


Feelings Bite

by FriendlyCybird



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Injury, Set mid to late season 1, Stan being sad and awesome?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-24
Updated: 2019-08-19
Packaged: 2020-07-18 00:36:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19965832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FriendlyCybird/pseuds/FriendlyCybird
Summary: When Dipper is bitten by a strange creature, the way he perceives the world, and his family, changes. Stan needs to change it back before Dipper's new ability completely overwhelms him.





	1. Chapter 1

Dipper had done more running in the month or so he'd been in Gravity Falls then in the seven years worth of physical education classes before it. Of course, running because there was a literal monster behind you making the most terrible screeching sound was a lot more natural than running because a teacher told you to. There was something about running for your life. Despite the very real danger, it felt like the good kind of fear. The motivating kind, the kind you could laugh about later. Dipper couldn't wait to laugh about this - but if they had to run uphill much longer he might not have the air to. 

The horrible shrieking was getting closer. 

The one concession Dipper made to the reality of the danger was keeping Mabel in front of him. Whatever was coming up behind them, his first priority was to protect her from it. So when Mabel stopped running suddenly, Dipper barley shifted to one side enough so it was just his shoulder that impacted hers. He wrapped an arm around her waist, the words   
"Mabel, Come On!" pushed out of his throat. 

Mabel's arm dropped to curl around his waist in return, and she caught him hard by the ribs. Then her grappling hook was in her other hand the next thing Dipper knew his feet were off the ground. Her grip hurt, of course it did, but it was nothing compared to the sudden pain in his ankle that had him cry out and look down. The moment he looked he wished he hadn't.   
Its face was split, on either side of his ankle, strangely-shaped jaw clamped down hard on his tendon. The mouth was somewhere near the middle of its face, which was both skeletal and bone-white but the white looked more like skin stretched over the unsettling face. Four of its limbs reached up, trying to grab hold of his leg as he swung out of its reach. Mabel's hand was no doubt going to leave a bruise on his ribs, and the force of her hold yanked Dipper right out of the creatures mouth. He screamed again at the feeling of something tearing, and when they landed he reflexively tried to stand and failed, wounded limb giving out under less than a second of his weight. 

"Dipper!" Mabel cried as he fell. He hadn't meant to pull her down with him, but he hadn't had time to let go. She fell to her knees at his side and out of nowhere Dipper was overwhelmed with a blind panic. He whimpered slightly and Mabel gasped "oh no, you're bleeding...oh...oh _gross_ " even as she spoke, Dipper felt his stomach roll unpleasantly and he groaned slightly. "It left a _Tooth_." Mabel breathed, and Dipper felt a little bile rise in his throat, and the fear ebbed slightly, replaced by a surge of fascination. "That's...kinda cool, actually?" 

"Do you have anything to bandage it with?" Dipper managed to ask, now that he didn't feel the full weight of a disproportionate terror sitting on his chest and suffocating him. For some reason, he felt an odd pang of loss then, and a different flavor of panic welled up. "Mabel?" he looked, and she was still there, removing her sweater and folding it into a strip, then tying it around his ankle. 

He yelped when the cloth put pressure on the wound, pressing the tooth deeper into his flesh. "Sorry!" Mabel half-shouted, and Dipper closed his eyes, trying to fight past the duel threads of panic that were somehow playing through his mind at once. "Sorry...you'll...have to lean on me." 

"Thanks, Mabel." Dipper managed quietly. "Can you...help me up?" Mabel got under his arm and helped pull him to stand on his good foot. Slowly, the panic began to mute into a distant buzz of concern and... "can you make Mabel Juice when we get back to the shack? I have a weird..." he hissed slightly as the first step became necessary and he almost put his injured foot down by habit. "...craving." 

"Hey, me too!" Mabel chirped. 

It was maybe half a mile of painfully slow going before Dipper realized how weird that was. He was too into the groove of using Mabel as a crutch by then. Their footsteps had to fall in an exact pattern or else they stumbled over the rough ground of the path back to the shack. This happened often enough, and with every accidental pressure on his aching injury, Dipper would also feel a strange stab of concern that only abated when he assured Mabel he was okay. 

Finally, they broke through the treeline and the shack was in sight. They picked up the pace a little, and getting up the steps was a challenge. They made it though, up the steps and across the porch in good time for two people with the use of only three legs between them. 

Then they opened the door. 

Dipper felt as though he'd been physically struck. Square in the chest, an agony that threatened to cut off his breathing. He clutched Mabel tighter, distantly aware of her concerned "Dipper?" - a small prick of worry among the disorientating, devastating flood. He held onto her though, as the sudden terror that he would lose her - that he _had_ lost her, rushed through him and filled him with an incomprehensible dread, and with it a restlessness he couldn't quite describe - and then all of it was overwhelmed by a new wave of concern. 

"What happened?" 

"He got bit by a monster!" 

"C'mere," and suddenly Stan's arms were around him and just as suddenly Dipper couldn't breathe. He'd started crying, and as he was placed in Stan's chair he felt sobs begin shaking his whole body as what felt for all the world like an old guilt seemed to reopen. Like tearing a stitch. Stan rambled off a few breakfast items and told Mabel to fetch the first aid kit and where it was. "Kid - hey, kid. Listen. C'mon, stop crying. It can't be that bad, can it?" 

"G-grunkle Stan what..." Dipper gasped "What's happening?" 

"Ya got a hurt foot, kid. That's all. We'll get it bandaged right up, okay?" 

Dipper nodded. Stan sounded so calm but he wasn't, Dipper could tell. All that guilt, the fear, the pain...it was all coming from Stan. "How -" he gasped, but he couldn't finish the sentence. 

"I dunno. I wasn't there. You tell me. How'd this happen?" 

That wasn't the question Dipper had been asking, not at all. But he did his best to answer it anyway. "I...we...were just hiking...and...there was a...a hole...I went to...look and..." Mabel returned as Dipper stammered through his answer, trying to get his bearings. It was hard to breathe, why was it so hard to breathe? Stan was on the floor in front of him, foot in his hand. 

Distantly, he heard Mabel mumble "He was fine on the way here..." 

Stan worked by Dipper's foot, prompting "So? Keep going. There was a hole, you looked inside..." 

"There was a monster in it!" Mabel answered. 

"Not now, Pumpkin, I'm asking your brother." Stan responded. "Dipper? What happened next?" 

Dipper nodded, and more tears spilled. "Mabel-" he mumbled, reaching for her. He could see her through his tears and he reached for her. Why was he so convinced she was gone? He'd realized what he was feeling was coming from Stan, somehow, but how was that possible? He looked down. Stan was...working at the top of his shoe with a pair of scissors from the first aid kit. His expression was focused - the picture of calm. So how could all this pain, this crushing guilt and grief be coming from him? 

Mabel slipped into the chair by his side and curled against him. Dipper wrapped an arm around her and held tight, but kept his eyes on Stan. "C'mon," Stan prompted. "Keep talkin. Just gotta get your shoe off so I can get the tooth out without you bleeding all over the place. What kinda monster was it?" 

"It...uh..." Dipper let his eyes closed, pressed his face against Mabel's shoulder. He took a long, shaky breath and then described "It was...big? Like...my height but twice as long and it...it's face was..." he shuddered "White. Paper white - and...I didn't even see its teeth until..." he tried to pull in another breath. Why was it so hard to breathe? Mabel tucked her arms around his middle and he found he could speak. "It had uh...sorta spider legs? Looked like...four on the ground most of the time and four...were more like arms? And its body was...sectioned? And...fuzzy? I...I don't...I don't know I just. Turned around and..." he squeezed Mabel briefly before adding "Pushed Mabel in front of me and started running." 

It felt important to say that. To tell Stan that he'd protected her. He was rewarded with a gentle nudge of pride - and a rough burst of annoyance from the other direction. "Uh, you didn't push me, I was just faster than you!" Mabel insisted. 

Dipper huffed what should have been a laugh through his nose, then sniffed and wiped at his eyes with his free hand. "Yeah." he said after a moment. "Yeah, that." the little thrum of pride was buoying him. Against everything from the steady stream of concern pouring out from a growing boredom in his sister to the violent storm of feeling from Stan. "You saved me too," he added, squeezing her again. "Pulled out the grappling hook right before it got us." 

Maybe he should have chosen his words more carefully, because the old well of guilt seemed to just open more. "Shoulda gotten it sooner..." Mabel pouted, and Dipper knew the growth of that feeling was from her. 

"Nah, you had perfect timing." it seemed Stan's effort to distract him had been working, because all at once the physical pain doubled and Dipper let out a startled cry as Stan was suddenly pressing gauze hard against where the tooth had been. He hissed as Stan soaked the gauze in disinfectant and whispered "I don't think that's how you're supposed to-" 

"I know how to bandage a foot wound." Stan interrupted. But more than his words, it was the sudden sense of...inadequacy, like getting what in hindsight was an obvious problem marked wrong on a test and not being able to tell where you'd made the mistake in your math. Stan added a second patch of gauze over the soaking one and began wrapping them both with bandage. "There." he said when he was done. "Good as new. Now, if you'll let go of your sister, I'm gonna take you upstairs. Mabel, get some pillows. He's gotta keep that foot up." 

Dipper obeyed and let go, and Mabel hopped out of the chair to do as Stan instructed. Then Stan scooped Dipper out of the chair and started carrying him upstairs. As they turned on the landing, Dipper asked quietly "Are you alright, Grunkle Stan?" 

"Me?" Stan echoed. "You're the one that got bit!" 

Dipper frowned. It was all still there. Guilt. Grief. Pain. Just under a fresh blanket of frustration that marked Stan's tone. "I...I don't think you're okay." Dipper answered.

Stan didn't respond, just getting to the attic and shouldering his way into the bedroom. Then he placed Dipper on the bed and turned to leave without a word. Any doubt Dipper had that the pain was from Stan ebbed along with the emotion as Stan walked farther and farther down the stairs. By the time Dipper couldn't hear his footsteps anymore, he couldn't feel that agony. It was like a weight had been lifted from his chest and he could breathe again.   
The rush almost completely overrode the pain in his ankle, and was quickly filled with exhaustion. Dipper was asleep in a matter of minutes.


	2. Chapter 2

Stan Pines would never claim to be a smart man. 

Rather, he would never believe himself when he did. Maybe he could buy that he was no idiot, but he didn't necessarily consider himself to be particularly intelligent. Despite that, his memory was crystal-clear, even at this age. A cloudy crystal, sure, but still clear. And he sure as hell remembered the thing Dipper had described. 

Not first hand, of course. Worse. Mabel was headed up the stairs with the pillows as he was coming down. He thought, for a moment, that she'd stay up there with her brother and he could slip away to the basement. He was only just out of the room when Mabel appeared at the bottom of the stairs and announced "He's asleep." 

Stan turned around and leaned on the door frame. "Already?" 

Mabel nodded. "Yep. Which makes sense 'cause he wanted Mabel Juice on the way back so I guess he was tired?" She frowned a bit, concerned, and Stan felt a small pang. He stepped back into the room properly and sat down, arms apart, an invitation without inviting her to sit with him. She crawled into his lap and curled into his side. "Is he gonna be okay?" 

"Sure he is, sweetie." Stan assured. "He's probably just tired from all the excitement. Blood loss too, maybe. He'll be fine." He tugged her close, holding her a little harder than he meant to and hoping she wouldn't notice he was reassuring himself as much as her. She nestled her head against his shoulder and relaxed, and Stan started to as well. 

"You uh - " Stan tried to remember Mabel's exact words and couldn't quite place them. Cloudy Crystal and all. "You said he wasn't that bad on the way home, right? How was he?"   
Mabel shifted, and looked up at Stan with a considering expression before answering. "Kinda scared? I was too though. He seemed okay though. Like, he wasn't crying or anything like when he got here? Kinda more like he was when you carried him upstairs. Why?" 

That tracked far too well for Stan's liking, and he frowned. Mabel tugged at his shirt questioningly and Stan sighed. "Just...thinkin out loud, that's all." he answered. 

"Well don't start thinkin all quiet now once you started!" Mabel scolded. "Let me know what's going on up there!" she reached up and patted the side of his head and Stan could only smile at her. 

He tipped his head back for a moment, considering. He couldn't explain this to her. So, seemed he had to lie. "Was checking to make sure he wasn't in shock. He was acting like he was in shock here but that sets in quicker than that. If he was fine out there than he was fine in here he just. I dunno, got upset or something." 

"So you really think he's fine?" Mabel pressed. 

Stan nodded. "Yeah, he'll be fine. Gotta stay off that foot for a while. Did you get it propped up on the pillows?" 

Mabel nodded in return. "Yeah, that's how I know he was actually asleep." 

"Hey," Stan started, gears starting to turn again. "You said he wanted Mabel Juice. Did you give him that idea?" 

"Nope, he thought of it all on his own." She paused and then added "I uh, I did kinda want something sparkly and sugary though before he said it. It was like he was reading my mind or something!" 

Well that was dangerous to let her think too much about. So Stan laughed it off as quickly as he could and said "Why don't you go make some? I gotta do some things in the shop, but if you go make up a pitcher I'll see ya in there in...I dunno, half an hour?" 

Mabel nodded and scooted off of his lap, hopping to her feet and calling "Meet you in the kitchen!" as she rushed off. Stan watched her go, then stood slowly and started back out of the room, toward the gift shop. 

He wasted no time in the gift shop itself, instead proceeding directly behind the vending machine and down to the basement. This wouldn't take long at all. He'd given himself half an hour as a buffer, so Mabel wouldn't get impatient and start looking for him for at least twenty minutes. He went right to the journal, didn't even sit, just set it in front of him and flipped through the pages. It was in here somewhere, he was sure of it. 

The first thing he saw that he recognized as what he was looking for was the long diamond face with the unsettling eyes that Ford had depicted as dark spirals near the top point that very nearly touched. In the bottom half of the face was a wide oval filled with jagged teeth, each very like the one he had pulled from Dipper's ankle mere minutes ago. It was turned at the neck to show its face despite the side-view of the creature, which, just as Dipper had described, had a sectioned body, lifting at the narrow point like a backwards waist, four legs on the ground and four lifted in a classic artists rendering of an aggressive animal pose. Below that in the familiar scrawl were the large letters Distressor Fiend. 

In smaller script, all the worse for the years it had been since Stan had last copied his homework, Ford had written "This creature is extremely aggressive, presumably feeding off the emotions of its victims. Those who survive its viscous teeth and tearing front limbs, such as myself, often find themselves able to experience the emotions of others. Naturally, this made trips into town for supplies nearly impossible and, ultimately, I could feel whatever anyone passing within a mile of my cabin was feeling. As this became increasingly distressing, I resolved to find a cure."

The page ended there. Dimly, Stan could remember a surge of...one emotion or another, the first time he'd really read this section. Anger, perhaps? That he'd never been able to truly understand. He'd never tried either. He remembers turning the page so hard he almost ripped it. 

This time he turned it more gently. Ford continued: Ultimately, the cure I found was a tea, brewed from the petals of the flowers that typically grow near the caves Distressor Fiends den in, combined with fur from its underbelly. Fur from, presumably, anywhere else on its body all has a woolen texture and if brewed into the same tea instead will mitigate the symptoms but not provide a cure. Still, it is better to limit your encounters with Distressor Fiends as much as possible, so if you have been bitten it is best to attempt to acquire underbelly fur as quickly as possible.

Viscous teeth. Tearing Front Limbs. Increasingly Distressing. Underbelly fur. As Quickly as Possible. 

"Damn it, Ford." Stan growled as he looked at the page. No details. No advice. Ford had gone on about systematic study and the scientific method their entire childhood but it seemed the second he was even minorly inconvenienced science flew right out the window. If that was being too harsh, Stan could still be annoyed by the lack of information about how this underbelly fur was acquired. Then at least Stan would know what level of violence to brace himself for committing on the thing. Given it had hurt Dipper though, he couldn't help but reflexively plan for a very, Very high level. 

About the one useful thing about the passage, besides giving the creature a name to curse, was the clear indication that the powers grew once you were infected. Which meant soon, Dipper would be getting hit with whatever shit of his he couldn't keep under lock and key 24/7, and how long until he could feel all the way out to the edge of town? Beyond that? Nevermind if Stan tried to send him back to the dead center of Oakland like this. A city like that, there was no telling what Dipper might feel or how it might affect him. 

So that was it then, Stan had to fix this. He wished there was some sort of time table. He couldn't take it too fast, freak Mabel out. Couldn't take it too slow and have Dipper break down like that again. The kid had his own twin, so that little pity-party he'd walked in on couldn't have been easy to swallow. No, he'd have to play this real careful. Keep an eye on Dipper, and make some plans. 

Good thing he was good at making plans. He'd try not to think about how those plans usually turned out. 

He came back upstairs and was in the kitchen after only about ten minutes. Mabel had her nose resting on the edge of the table, at eye-level with the current height of the liquid in the pitcher, studying it. "How's it comin?" Stan asked. 

Mabel startled and bumped her lip on the corner of the table with a sharp "ow!" and Stan crossed over to her, forcing calm. There was no telling how quickly Dipper's abilities would grow, and there was no way this was worse than a little bump. No sense waking Dipper up with flashes of concern. 

He still asked "You okay sweetie?" as he caught her shoulder to turn her to face him.   
"Yeah." she answered, rubbing at the space above her upper lip before looking up at him indignantly. "Don't sneak up on a girl like that, Grunkle Stan! Geez." Then she frowned and asked "Has it been half an hour already?" 

"Nah," Stan assured. "Just went faster than I thought. How's the uh...how's the juice comin?"   
"I can't decide if it needs another dinosaur." Mabel answered. "If I don't get just the right plastic-to-glitter ratio, it'll taste funny." 

Stan blinked, and let that sentence swim in his mind a moment. It needed a second moment as well before even he could pretend it was at all a normal thing to say. "Uh..." he managed anyway, then "Well, what's your usual?" 

She eyed him faux-suspiciously. "I can't tell you that. It's a secret recipe!" 

"Secret Recipe, huh?" he grinned. "Good call, works better'n a trademark. Alright, don't tell me the ratio. How many dinosaurs do you usually use?" 

Mabel frowned, considering, then admitted "That's the thing, this is a different pitcher." 

Stan snorted. "Well that's the problem. What'd you go and use a different pitcher for?"   
"The one I normally use was dirty!" Mabel exclaimed. 

Stan rolled his eyes. "So wash it! Sheesh. Gotta do everything myself around here..." he complained, heading over to the sink to locate, and wash, the correct pitcher. 

Maybe Dipper had only wanted Mabel Juice on his way in because Mabel had, but he'd still wanted it. Besides, sugar and caffeine after waking up from an adrenaline crash was always Stan's go-to. Of course, Mabel Juice was a pretty strong blend of...something or other, and Dipper was built like a twig. He was probably smart enough to not drink more than a swallow or two though. 

Stan washed the pitcher, and then the rest of the dishes while Mabel worked. Then he set about making dinner. He reminded himself, again and again, it was gonna be okay. He'd make it okay. He had to, and...not to be dramatic or anything, but...he just would. Or he'd die trying.


	3. Chapter 3

It felt like the most natural thing in the world, feeling that little bubble of bright tension somewhere under his skin and knowing instinctively that it was Mabel. The more Dipper woke up, the stranger that was. He didn't even open his eyes before muttering "Morning, Mabel." Then he shifted, and a pain that was entirely his own shot up his leg and he whimpered. 

"Morning, Dip-dop. How's your leg?" Mabel asked, bouncing off of her bed and coming over to stand beside his. 

Dipper took stock of his body and answered dryly. "Elevated." 

"Ha!" Mabel barked, climbing to sit beside him. "You're welcome!" He could feel her concern lacing through her comfortable, simmering joy like a spice. It was warm and it crowded out whatever he might feel about his own injury. So he just grinned up at her. She grinned down at him and asked "Does it feel better? You're not gonna start crying about it again or anything?" 

Dipper struggled for a justification. Should he just tell her? Either way felt wrong. He could either try explaining something he didn't even fully understand, or he could hide the fact that he was experiencing her private emotions at the same moment she was. It felt a bit like a violation, but selfishness won out and he didn't want to make her uncomfortable enough she left him alone. Eventually he settled for mostly feigned indignation. "Dude, he cut off my shoe! I had a right to be upset!" 

Mabel frowned, skepticism rolling off her in waves. Dipper rolled his eyes and sat up, leaning forward to tug the pillows supporting his foot back with him as he leaned on the small beds headboard. "You still want that Mabel Juice you asked for last night?" 

Dipper frowned. "Wait, is it seriously morning?" 

"Yep!" Mabel answered. "You slept all night! Evening too 'cause we got back so early." 

Dipper frowned. There was something tickling at the back of his mind. Assuming it was a dream, he chased it. Might be something interesting. Instead he was rewarded with a burst of determination underpinned by fear and that same all-consuming grief that he recognized as Stans twisting subtly through it. Dipper's breath caught and he refocused on Mabel. "What's Stan planning?" 

"Huh?" Mabel asked, and Dipper winced slightly. "I dunno. Is Grunkle Stan planning something?" 

Dipper shrugged. It wasn't actually a lie if you didn't say anything out loud, right? Instead he changed tracks. "You slept too, right?" 

"Yeah," Mabel returned. "But like...just a normal amount? You slept _Forever_ , it was weird." 

"I didn't sleep forever, Mabel." Dipper grumbled, a wave of irritation washing over him out of nowhere. "I'm awake now, aren't I?" He took a breath and leaned hard into the headboard. He wasn't actually irritated with Mabel. That was someone else. He could feel people outside the room now. Was Stan angry? That didn't seem right, as he could still feel that fear-driven determination like a beacon in the fog of his mind. 

"Phhh, I don't mean _Literally_ forever, stilly!" Mabel protested, and her playfully annoyed concern and general good mood only slightly marred by his injury was a good deal more grounding than anything he could get from outside the room. 

Dipper cracked a grin. "I know, Mabel. I'm just giving you a hard time." 

She punched him in the shoulder and while his smile didn't fade he had to tense suddenly to keep from punching her back. Holy crap whose emotions was he picking up? He closed his eyes and Mabel said...something? He wasn't sure what. He was too busy chasing that thread of irritation down to the tightly-coiled panic underneath it. The anxiety was familiar somehow, but Dipper couldn't place it. Mabel was between sentences, if still technically talking, when Dipper cut in. "Hey, Mabes? Can you go check who just got here?" 

Mabel frowned at him. "How do you know someone just got here?" 

Dipper shrugged. "Just uh..." he shrugged. "Can you just check? I'll explain later." 

"Okay..." Mabel answered warily, then started for the door. She stopped with it open and demanded "But you'd tell me if you were developing physic powers, right?" 

Dipper nodded, a lie, then hastily corrected to a partial truth. "Once I was sure what was going on, yeah." 

Mabel didn't like that answer. The burst of irritation and, under it, hurt, got much closer before Mabel slammed the door. Dipper could trace her movements through the shack. Not so perfectly he knew exactly where she was. He could just feel her soured mood growing further and further away from him until it caught surprise like a fire, burning out the irritation and blazing into excitement before it, she, turned and rushed toward him. Closer and closer and up the stairs and finally through the door and shouting "Wendy's Here! How did you _**Know?!??** _

Wendy? That couldn't be right? Dipper frowned and tried to find that dim irritation and fear again, but he couldn't. Mabel's increasingly complex fire was blinding and he could focus on nothing but her. He stammered a moment before finally admitting. "Okay. So you have to _promise_ not to tell anyone." 

"I promise!" Mabel nearly shouted. 

"Shhhh!" Dipper pushed, then he sighed. "I may be developing physic powers." 

Mabel squealed in delight and leaped onto the foot of his bed. Her fear-laced exuberance was an almost physical force and he recoiled into the headboard as she shriek-whispered "Tell me _everything_." Dipper chuckled a little and tried to decide where to start when Mabel gasped and demanded "Is that why you wanted Mabel Juice yesterday? Did you _Actually_ read my mind?" 

"I didn't read your mind," Dipper insisted with a sigh. "I just...felt it. You wanted Mabel Juice, and I could _feel_ that you wanted Mabel Juice, but since I didn't know at the time I could feel your emotions I thought that I was the one who wanted Mabel Juice. ...Does that make sense?" 

Mabel considered a moment, then nodded. Then a wicked little smile crossed her face and she asked "What do I want to eat now?" 

Her mischief shot off her in spikes, all excitement and uncertainty and experimentation in the name of play. Dipper tried to focus under that, try to find the answer to her question. Unfortunately, he didn't know how to look for things with his mind. It was an idea common to a lot of the stories he had read but he'd never tried to do it before. Also he wasn't sure how to parse out if the hunger he was feeling was his own or hers. Finally, he ventured a guess more from knowing than reading her. "Sugar?" 

"Nope!" She declared, then laughed. "Wow, Dip-dop, you're bad at this! Try again!" 

Dipper rolled his eyes. "It doesn't work like that Mab-" he cut off suddenly, gasping as he felt very suddenly as if he'd been struck in the chest. 

"Dipper?" Mabel's concern flared inside him and he launched himself at her, wrapping his arms around her waist and burying his face against her chest to hide from it. The onslaught of curiosity, unfamiliar streams of excitement each with their own strands and flavors at once merging and retaining their distinct identities. Awe, skepticism, irritation, someone was hungry, at least three people were in love with someone else there. He whined a little and Mabel hugged him. "Hey...C'mon...Dipper, what's going on?" 

"People." Dipper whined. "there's people downstairs and I can..." 

"Ooohhhh..." Mabel understood suddenly and pulled him closer against herself. "It's okay, bro-bro. I've got you. You've just gotta...block them out. Can you focus on me?" She sounded so calm but he could feel her concern, her fear, biting at his edges and pushing him down. Inadequacy, not unlike what Stan had felt after he'd pulled out the tooth, but buoyed by...something. Dipper couldn't identify it, but he reached for it and clung to it and hoped it was Mabel. 

He couldn't do anything but feel. It was like his mind had shut off. Some part of him knew he should be focusing on his breathing. Honestly Dipper wasn't even sure he was breathing. He tried to focus on that spark though. Tried to understand it. It was different, and he couldn't feel anything like it from anyone downstairs although they were all far away. He could still feel everything else, rushing past and through him. Mabel's concern and affection and that little flash of annoyance at, he assumed, the handful of bars she'd begun humming being stuck in her head. 

It finally passed, not because Dipper adjusted or was able to ground himself or anything actually healthy like that, but because the crowd abated. First the irritation grew and peaked but along with it a feeling Dipper felt could best be described as 'well-why-not' and even trickles of amusement. Then, one or two or three at a time, the crowd left the gift shop. His breathing returned to normal and he sat up and looked at Mabel, a bit sheepishly. "Sorry." he mumbled. 

"Psshhh," she dismissed. "You're fine. Was it the tourists?" Dipper nodded weakly and Mabel pushed him backwards. "Lay down, dumb-dumb. You need some rest after that."   
"But I didn't _do_ anything!" Dipper protested. 

"Uhhh..." Mabel started, and Dipper braced for an utterly incoherent argument as he could recognize the swell of indignation she was experiencing even with his eyes closed, though typically he only recognized it by her expression. "You just psychically read all the tourists going through the museum _and_ gift shop all at once? I mean...maybe that'd be okay if Grunkle Stan wasn't giving 'em all the hard sell but..." 

"Yeah, yeah." Dipper waved Mabel off. "I'll rest." Then his eyes popped open at the feeling of...not quite mischief but the satisfaction of the last piece of a plan slotting into place. "What are you gonna do?" 

Mabel shrugged innocently. "Just head downstairs." 

"Mabel..." Dipper said warning. 

Mabel pretended to startle, mischief sliding to the forefront as she shouted "What was that, Grunkle Stan? Uh-oh, gotta go, being summoned. See you later get good rest bye!" and with that Mabel had retreated out of the room and slammed the door. 

Dipper tried to relax. For a moment it was easy enough. Mabel's concerned determination under a playful candy-coating was strangely reassuring. Stan was deeply self-satisfied. So deeply as to mask his constant grief and guilt. Even Wendy was amused by something. 

Probably Stan, if Dipper's experience if what the man was like when he got self-satisfied. He relaxed into those feelings and was right on the edge of sleep when something cut through them. 

Fear. Stan's fear. A sudden, cold terror that ebbed into guilt and startled Dipper awake. It fell away as quickly as it could into a dull and distant buzz under an emotion Dipper had no name for. Like getting an A on an essay he'd hated writing or finally getting Zach Johnson to understand that the current conversation did not tie back to botany. Maybe even a little bit like the tiny thrill he got from continuing his feud with Robbie behind Wendy's back. Then, as his mind drifted around the various possible causes of this mystery emotion, Stan left the shack. 

Dipper was asleep minutes later.


	4. Chapter 4

Mabel had marched right up to Stan and informed him that he needed to close the Mystery Shack for the day. Stan had startled, and Mabel had insisted that " _ **Dipper** needs_ you to close up for the day." Stan understood instantly, of course, but he couldn't well let on he understood. That would raise more questions than it answered.

So instead he grumbled about costing him money for a few minutes and asked Wendy "How would you feel about a day off?" When she responded in the positive, Stan snapped "That's what I thought. You're on Babysitting Soos duty. Keep him on task - _Outdoor_ repairs only, got it? Mabel, you're on Babysitting Wendy duty, make sure she doesn't slack off like usual." If he actually expected them to actually do any of that it would be completely untenable. About the only part he could count on Soos to take to heart, if the message got to him accurately, was outdoor repairs only. Soos was good about that sort of thing. So he repeated "Remember, tell Soos Outside Repairs Only for the rest of the day!" 

Mabel's expression went soft, and Stan couldn't maintain his scowl. He smiled softly at her and she hugged him unexpectedly. "Thank you, Grunkle Stan." she mumbled against his stomach. 

Stan returned the hug, holding her close for a moment. He swallowed back the little rush of fear as quickly as he could and just let himself enjoy the moment as much as he could with eyewitnesses. ...A little more than typical since the only eyewitness was Wendy. He still growled a bit when he said "Whatever. I've gotta go pick up supplies." A half-truth at worst. He was still smiling a little when he said it too. He pulled back and made a shooing motion with his hands."Now, go find Soos, both of you! Get outta here!" 

Wendy mock-saluted him and rested a hand on Mabel's shoulder. "C'mon Mabel. Better indulge the old man." 

"I bet Soos is already outside, c'mon!" Mabel started at a dead run out of the gift shop and Stan chuckled slightly. It was good to be on the same page as the girl on steps to take for Dippers well-being. Even if he couldn't admit it because he was way ahead of her. Stan only stayed in the shack after that long enough to grab a baseball bat and his brass knuckles before he headed out and got in his car. 

He drove to the base of the mountain trail he knew had the most cave systems. Of the trails through the mountains, it was toward the low end of mid-range for hiker and tourist traffic. Over the last three decades Stan had been inside almost all of these caves at least once, searching for the other journals. A few of them he'd bolted out of because there was some creature or another already in them, several of which he hadn't gotten a proper look at. He hadn't stressed too much about it as it was just populated enough that he doubted Ford had hidden anything up there. 

It was, however, a perfect fit for his description of where Distressor Fiends might den. 

Stan hadn't changed into good hiking shoes, so he fully expected to end up with blisters at best and needing a new pair of work shoes at worst. Even that wasn't too bad, the kids weren't costing quite as much as he'd budgeted for them, new shoes could come outta that. If he shoplifted more of his next grocery run he might even be able to afford a good pair and still end up under budget. And that was worst case scenario. Stan was dimly aware that his worst case scenario for going up against a monster that just might kill him being that he might need to buy new shoes was potentially a little reflective of out-of-order priorities, but it really didn't merit that much thought at the moment. 

He didn't explore any given cave too deeply, ten, sometimes twenty feet. If he didn't find anything by five miles up he'd start going around bends on the way back down Really he ought to have also grabbed a flashlight, but he'd been angry enough about Dipper's condition that he hadn't quite planned this out all the way. A few caves he had to pause in, because he could hear something. Breathing, or skittering or some other sign of life. He'd go a little deeper into those caves, usually just deep enough to make out one or more figures in the dark. They figures were inevitably either too small or much too large and Stan would leave as quickly and quietly as he could.   
He lost count of the caves he checked. Not that he'd ever really been counting. He wasn't even sure how far he'd gone anymore, but the blisters were fast becoming a certainty rather than a possibility. For as well tread as this path was, the ground was anything but even and the shoes at minimum would need a polish from how many rocks he'd scuffed them on. How could he even be thinking about his shoes at a time like this? Right, nothing was happening. Stan was bored. 

It was probably lucky he didn't encounter any hikers. Explaining why he was up here in his full Mr. Mystery getup with brass knuckles on both hands and a baseball bat would be a test of his improvisational skills that Stan was not in the mood for at the moment. Creative lie-telling like that was best when he could have fun with it. This was not a fun day. 

It was a nice day. Clear skies and a steady breeze down from the top of the mountain. Any other circumstances, and better shoes, and Stan would enjoy this hike. The in-and-out of the dark caves were working up a good headache though as his eyes kept having to adjust to the changing light levels. 

Along the way, he made sure to pocket some of the heads of various flowers he passed. They looked mostly the same. Maybe he'd be able to get Mabel to examine them without asking too many questions when he got back. He pulled a pretty generous sampling and spread them through various pockets in case something happened and he landed wrong on one or more of them. 

It wasn't until he was turning and starting to leave yet another cave that he heard it. He hadn't heard breathing or shuffling or any of the other sounds that indicated life in a cave. All he heard now was growling. Low and menacing and shooting fear down his spine, fueling the impulse to run. It was spite more than determination that made Stan turn around. This thing thought it could hunt him? It had another thing coming.   
He turned around and grinned broadly when he saw the disturbing diamond-shaped face, bone white and grinning maliciously. Ford's drawing hadn't done the eyes justice. Stan couldn't describe them, but they made the top ten most fucked up things he'd seen in his life list easy. It was approaching him, somehow silently. Stan didn't waste time puzzling through how it moved. He just lifted the baseball bat and let fly at center mass. 

Center mass of center section, the part that was lifted at what looked like nothing so much as a u-bend section of pipe. Only after the bat connected did Stan consider the possibility maybe he should go for the things weird waist. Maybe that was weaker.   
This occurred to him, of course, because that first impact did basically nothing. The thing side-stepped...and came at Stan. That weird face getting suddenly closer was an image that promised to visit his nightmares. Stan started to pull back to throw another punch but it was too close, too fast. So he dropped instead. Rolled to the side. Rocks dug into him at every angle and he was already feeling bruised and sore when he pulled himself to his feet. This was gonna be a long fight. 

Especially because it was already coming at him again, already changed directions, already too close to swing at. At least...to swing the bat at. His fist on the other hand had the perfect reach to catch the thing on the corner of its stupid diamond head. He could feel a slight give, heard a soft crack. The little rush from knowing he'd hurt the thing was instantly muted by the fear it would bolt now. He needed that fur.   
Luckily, it only backed off far enough that Stan had room to swing his bat, low this time. Catching right where he wanted it to, slamming into the thin curve of connective tissue. The sound that followed could only be one of pain, but it was also a low and disorienting hiss. Stan switched the bat to his left hand and swung again, wildly, forcing the monster back. 

Another swing, another step. Back, and back and the light from the front of the cave grew fainter and fainter until Stan could see little more than the shape of the thing. This cave had to have a back, and once Stan got it backed up to that, he'd have the advantage and be able to just pummel it until it rolled over and let him at that underbelly. 

Back and back for almost a full minute, Stan would estimate. His arm was getting tired and he pushed harder to compensate. Time was hard enough to keep track of in a fight, never mind a fight in the dark. The cave had to have a back, and Stan had to corner this thing. Knocking it over wasn't an option, apparently. He had to find another way. 

Then he heard splashing. The black floor of the cave shimmered and rippled under the Fiend's back legs and Stan swore under his breath. Water. Of course there was a pond back here and G-d knows how deep it is. It was a good thing Stan's real skill was in improvisation, because every single plan he'd made since he heard the fiend growl had gone directly down the crapper. It was time to just stop thinking.   
Shutting off his brain didn't usually end with Stan leaping through the air at something with visible sharp teeth, but hey, what other options did he have? His fingers dug into woolen fur and he wondered, distantly, where his bat had gotten off to. He could afford new shoes but a new baseball bat too? Saving Dipper was turning out to be expensive. 

The plan wasn't to just slam his feet into the fiends side. Stan was pretty sure some thought had snuck its way through about getting onto what passed for its back and hanging on for dear life. Instead though, he drop-kicked the thing square in the side.   
The good thing about drop-kicks is that they _hurt _, and who or what ever you're fighting is gonna need a second to recover if one connects. The bad thing about drop-kicks is that unless your balance and agility are a whole lot better than Stans, once you deliver one, you drop. This was how Stan ended up flat on his back in about three inches of water, clutching some of the monsters woolen fur.__

__He tucked the fur into his breast pocket. If it came to it, he could run now. Give Dipper the tea to mitigate the symptoms, come back another time. If it came to it. He still had a shot. Bat or no, the knuckles were still on and he had heard the crunch when he got the thing in the face. He was doing fine, he just needed...to get back on his feet. Story of his life._ _

__Stan had started to roll to his side when sudden movement toward him caught his eye and he realized, all at once, that getting to his feet was the last thing he needed to do. Underbelly fur. Under the Distressor Fiend's Belly. That's where he needed to get. All this beating the thing up crap was just that, crap. If Stan wanted to win, he needed to stay down._ _

__Probably the most counter-intuitive thought of his life._ _

__It came for his throat. For something that supposedly fed on people's emotions, it certainly seemed to have an interest in getting its teeth in his flesh. It ended up getting a taste of his flesh after all. Teeth sinking into his arm and honestly it didn't hurt as much as he expected it to? This was how Stan realized he was deep in adrenaline, and he was gonna crash hard when he got home._ _

__He was also, for the first time that day, completely certain he'd be getting home. Which was a special kind of rush all its own. The moment success began to feel like a certainty. Inches away still though. He wasn't quite as far under the thing as he wanted. Mostly he was just lucky it'd caught his arm instead of his throat but now he controlled its head as long as it was biting him. His instincts were shouting at him to punch it in the face but that wasn't the goal. He had to keep his eyes on the goal. Figuratively. Literally, his eyes were more-or-less useless at the moment._ _

__He lifted his arm. Slowly, painfully, back above his head. Dragging the thing with him, up, over him. He could feel his own breathing now, ragged and harsh and wasn't it lucky the water wasn't any deeper? He could see it now, the underbelly. The top segment had the woolen fur on all sides, and while it was bent low enough to technically count as "underbelly', Stan had to reach for the bottom segment. Reach underneath. His fingers caught hold of downy, almost feathers, soft strands of fur and he curled them hard into it and pulled._ _

__The fur came off in his hand easily and he shoved it into his soaked-through and half-full-of-flowers pants pocket even as he lifted his arm straight up and back down over his face before bringing the newly-freed arm around and punching the fiend once more in its oh so punchable face._ _

__He felt the give, heard the crack, the jaw opened and Stan was free, except for the enormous looming figure he'd pulled practically right on top of him that was hissing in that low, disorienting way. Stan followed the motion of the punch, rolling hard into the things legs and snapping them out from under it, eventually pulling to his feet and taking off at a dead run for what he hoped was the cave entrance._ _

__He realized it was actually the side wall he was running at seconds before he hit it and turned an abrupt ninety degrees, past the slowly recovering fiend and toward the cave exit. Out the cave exit. Out and Down, back down the mountain. Passing all the other caves at top speed. He nearly tripped multiple times but his stride was long enough to catch himself. By the end of the trail, when his car came into sight, it had become more of an extended controlled fall than an actual run._ _

__He almost blacked out for a second when he crashed into the drivers seat. Blinking hard until his vision came back, Stan tried not to look at the blood soaking into the sleeve of his suit. Did the dry-cleaner charge extra for blood? He couldn't remember. It didn't matter right now. Worst case scenario, he'd have to find a way to shoplift the large bag of frozen chicken breast this weekend. ...Those thoughts were connected, he'd swear to it, but he couldn't remember how right now which meant he really needed to get home._ _

__Get to Dipper._ _


	5. Chapter 5

In a vague, unexplainable way, Stan might sort-of owe those cops a thank-you. Mostly because the surge of surge of affection and amusement he felt passing their car was like a splash of cool water to the face. Woke him right up and if he maybe leaned a little heavier on the gas pedal he hoped they wouldn't make an issue of it. 

To his immediate frustration, Soos, Wendy, and Mabel were working on the Golf Cart out front. Between where he parked his car and the front of the shack. If they'd been off to the side he would have just driven straight up to the porch but they were square in the middle of the path and the impulse to just run them over was easy enough to quell as he would never actually do something like that. 

Instead he got out of the car and felt as though he was being punched in the face with worry and confusion. The confusion was acceptable, the worry was not. "Yeah, yeah, I'm soaking wet, take a picture it'll last longer." 

He couldn't tell if they'd actually been staring at him, it just felt like the appropriate thing to say. Soos replied with a breathless "Mr. Pines, you're bleeding." 

"The only thing I need to hear from any of you!" Stan snapped over his shoulder "Is where you put the tea infuser. I haven't touched it in decades so if it's anywhere but the drawer I left it in I'm coming back out here and forcing you to tell me where it is!" 

Confusion overwhelmed concern, until they all heard a crash from upstairs. Stan didn't need his budding empathic powers to know that Dipper had picked up his mood and gotten abruptly pissed off enough to start throwing things. It honestly sounded like a really good idea if he had the time. Instead, all he had time for was filling a mug with tap water and throwing it into the microwave for a minute. He spent that minute finding his untouched tea ball and jamming it full of Distressor Beast Underbelly Fur and Flowers. He kept out some fur in case he'd gotten the wrong flowers and needed to try again, but as soon as the water beeped, Stan put it out and put the infuser in. 

Then he gave himself a moment to breathe. 

It helped. It helped a lot. No one came inside either, and he couldn't feel them. The experience, the emotions he knew weren't his own, utterly alien, were somehow staying with him. He had his own concern, his own anxiety, but it was changed somehow. He could feel the traces of innocence they'd touched his mind with and it took an extra effort to breathe through the rising flood of affection in his chest for all of them. 

For Dipper. 

He hoped Dipper could feel that loud and clear. 

The water had started to go a little yellowish. There was no way to know if it was properly steeped or not. He left the infuser in as he started carrying the mug up the stairs. 

He was right outside the door into the attic bedroom when he felt it. Seemed Dipper hadn't gotten over that little bout of rage Stan had infected him with on the way in. It cut off Stan's thought process long enough for him to slam the door open. The noise startled him, or did it startle Dipper? Whatever it was, fear overtook anger and Stan clung to the mug so he could remember to not chuck it across the room and run away. Geez, was the kid's startle reflex really that strong? 

Dipper scoffed and opened his mouth to say something. It seemed the anger was back, or at least...what even was that feeling? He stared at Dipper, suddenly possessed with a need to understand exactly what the other was feeling. The second he made eye contact he realized that need was actually Dippers, to understand him. Well, this was an awkward feedback loop. 

Feedback loop was definitely the right word, because awkwardness abruptly overtook everything and they both looked away. Stan wondered how much the displeased noise Dipper made sounded like the one he did at the exact same moment. His face had even gone hot from Dipper's sudden embarrassment and that was enough of that. He thrust the mug out toward Dipper and blinked at the loop of surprise that ensued. "Drink it." he ordered. 

Surprise melted into curiosity and looped back into irritation that Stan had to take responsibility for. Then Dipper gasped and Stan stared at him a long moment before the pang of grief cycled back around to him and Stan rolled his eyes. Yeah, so sometimes the kid got a bit like Ford and it hurt. He was not gonna let some pointy-faced giant bug make him explain that. So instead he explained "It's a cure." 

Before Stan could put a name to the emotion that came next, not that he was trying very hard, Dipper commented "You're hurt." 

Stan snorted. "No worse than you." He held out the cup again. Dipper looked up at him and Stan crumbled under the admiration he saw for a fraction of a second before he felt. He hoped the familiar sense of being less than worthy came from him, he also hoped the kid would keep his mouth shut about it when this was over. He went for reassurance. "I've got enough stuff to make myself a cup after. You're good." 

"Grunkle Stan..." Dipper said softly, the admiration bursting into affection as Dipper took the mug. Stan smiled a bit sheepishly and let the emotion echo back to the boy, underlined by his surprise and gratitude, both of which cycled back to him, amplified. And around and around until it was like they were shouting at one another and Stan dropped to sit beside Dipper on the bed and pull him into a tight hug. Dipper held onto the mug with both hands but rested his head on Stans chest and breathed. 

"Drink the tea, kid." Stan managed after a moment, voice thick. 

Dipper nodded, and pulled away a bit. Stan let him, but the sense of realization hit him like a thunderclap. It was a bizarre sensation with the thought attached to it. A moment later Dipper breathed "You called it a cure..." 

Stan nodded. "I mean, hey, if you wanna go back to Piedmont able to feel everything everyone in a mile radius of you is feeling and think you're not gonna lose your entire mind then..." he trailed off and halfheartedly reached for the mug. 

Dipper tugged it close to his chest though there wasn't a trace of possessiveness in his mind. Just acknowledgement. Followed by a note of curiousity. Stan shook his head and patted Dipper on the back. Dipper smiled at him and for a moment that warm affection cycled between them again and with it a moment where Stan knew neither of them actually wanted to stop being able to do that. Except they had to. Dipper breathed "Thank you." and took a long drink. 

The feedback loop cut off, though Stan could still feel Dipper's disgust at the taste of the tea. He took it better than Stan would have expected, taking three long gulps before pulling away with a "blegh." that made Stan chuckle. Dipper looked up at him and asked "Do I have to drink it all?" 

"Eh," Stan shrugged. "Better safe than sorry." At Dipper's flash of surprise, he added "What? With how much crap I'd catch if I sent ya home without your marbles? Drink up."   
Dipper made a face. "What's in it anyway?" he asked, and Stan chuckled, then covered his mouth. The feeling of disgust was triggering his gag reflex and he had to swallow back some escaped bile. Dipper looked concerned and "Grunkle Stan?" 

Stan shook his head. "Some flowers, uh, and some...other stuff. Don't worry about it. Just drink." 

Dipper stared incredulously at the mug. "Right, I don't want to know, do I?" 

"You don't." Stan agreed.

Dipper sighed and took several long gulps, draining the glass with no small amount of disgust and a tiny flash of malicious glee as he finished and grinned up at Stan, who was looking at him a bit curiously, holding out the cup. "Alright, now you make a cup." he said, a challenge under his tone, and Stan understood.   
He chuckled. "Alright, I'll head downstairs." 

Dipper started to slide off the bed. "I'll get the bandages for your arm while you make the tea." 

"Eh-eh-eh." Stan challenged, shaking a finger at Dipper. "You're gonna stay right here. That ankle is in no shape to be walked on." 

Dipper rolled his eyes and slid out of bed, landing effortlessly on his uninjured foot and holding the other up by bending his knee. "Good thing I'm the second place hopscotch champion of four years running." 

Stan snorted, though he could feel Dipper took some genuine pride in the title, it was only brought up out of an overwhelming, and thoroughly annoying sense of concern for Stan's well-being. Then he sighed and tried to let the concern echo back into being about Dipper before remembering that the boy couldn't feel it anymore. Lucky the tea was fast-acting but maybe it was a little too fast. So instead he just commented "Second place isn't gonna get you down the stairs, kid." 

Dipper looked at him, eyes level, pride wounded, and determination to prove himself to someone he - Stan blushed a little at the depth of that feeling and swallowed at the weight of his determination. Then Dipper said "We'll see about that, Grunkle Stan." Then he hopped to the door, and caught himself on the doorknob. He'd made it look effortless but Stan could feel the discomfort being deliberately ignored and wished again the tea was slower acting, he'd love for Dipper to feel how proud he was without having to say anything. Then Dipper looked over his shoulder and added "I came second to _Mabel_." Before hopping out of the bedroom and to the top of the stairs. 

Stan followed, and stayed close behind him as he used the railing to take one stair at a time without ever lowering his injured foot. He headed for the closet the first aid kit was stored in while Stan headed to the kitchen to dump the contents of the tea infuser into the trash and fill it again with more of the soggy contents of his pockets. It was honestly pretty gross. Then he left the infuser on the counter and filled the cup with water again, putting it in the microwave and heating it the same as he had Dippers. 

Dipper entered the kitchen a few moments later and Stan rushed forward to pull out a chair for him. Dipper flooded with gratitude and sat heavily, thudding the first aid kit onto the table. "Sit." the boy demanded, pointing at the chair across from him. 

"Since when do you give the orders around here, huh?" Stan demanded. Dipper fixed him with an unimpressed glare and seemed to almost deliberately flick his annoyance and an almost cloying level of unfiltered concern at Stan. Stan chuckled and held up his hands in surrender. "Just gotta wait for my water to nuke, then I'll grab the infuser and come sit." 

Dipper glared skeptically for a beat longer than his annoyance lasted, then he sighed and nodded. "You're gonna have to take off your shirt too." Dipper noted. 

Stan grumbled and did as he was told, mumbling complaints about being bossed around by a twelve year old. He grit his teeth together when he pulled first his jacket then his over shirt down that arm. Luckily there wasn't a tooth left behind like Dipper had dealt with. Just a long gash with deeper punctures at multiple points that had been bleeding pretty profusely but it'd been almost totally absorbed by his sleeve. 

Dipper frowned at it, and Stan could feel his fascinated disgust, like he was looking at a cool bug or something. "'S just a bite." Stan commented. The microwave beeped and Stan went back for his water, put the infuser in and returned to the table. He set the cup down and let Dipper tend to his arm. Cleaning away the blood and disinfecting the wound. 

Something surprised Dipper as he worked and Stan looked at him questioningly. It took Dipper a moment to catch it. He was quiet a beat longer, then, as he discarded the wipes, asked "Did that hurt?" 

Stan snorted. "Not as bad as the bite." 

Dipper was thinking, that much was obvious from his expression, but he was shifting rapidly between disbelief and admiration. Stan kept his expression curious as Dipper worked on bandaging the wound for him. Honestly Stan could have done this himself but he could somewhat distantly sense that it was important to the boy that he return the favor. And if Dipper did a bad job he could always re-do the bandages later. 

Dipper did a reasonably good job, and when he was done he finally commented "You're...a lot tougher than you seem, you know that?" 

Stan shrugged. "Yeah?" he paused, then, with a bit of a smile "You're not bad yourself." He glanced at the mug. It had already gone that yellowish color, so he picked it up with his good arm. Then he took a deep breath and felt Dipper's disgust at the memory of the taste roll over him. He glanced at him and commented "You're not helping." 

Dipper startled, and was briefly confused before realization struck and he laughed. "Sorry. I can't really help it though, it's gross." Stan chuckled and then Dipper asked "Did you uh - did you feel what happened when I drank it though?" 

Stan blinked. "Your uh...the feedback loop stopped. You stop feeling my feelings." Dipper nodded, and hesitated. "What?" Stan demanded, sensing a note of concern. "That was all I got." 

"It uh -" Dipper sucked in a breath and then "It hurt? No...not hurt it was just..." he paused and then "I couldn't...feel you anymore? It was like...for a split second, you weren't there? I don't know I just -" he paused and shrugged. "I know you uh. I know you're sad...a lot. And I know you lost someone and I just. I want you to know I'm still gonna be here. Okay?" 

The affection and concern practically pouring off of the kid was making Stan's hands start to tremble. He told himself it was because he'd been holding up the cup for too long but he knew better and he had to sniff back a growing dampness in his eyes. "Yeah." he said quietly "Okay." Then he lifted the glass slightly in almost a toast and "Bottoms up." and proceeded to chug the entire contents of the glass. 

He regretted his decision instantly, slamming the empty mug down and throwing his hands over his mouth. Dipper reached out and patted his knee. "Keep it down." The boy instructed, and Stan swallowed back the bile and the equally awful remnants of tea and blinked, hard.   
He was alone. 

Except he wasn't, and Dipper's hand was a reassurance. Stan took a couple deep breaths and smiled at the kid. Dipper smiled back and squeezed his knee reassuringly. "Okay." Stan said. "We're both better, You want me to go get the others and call 'em in to watch TV?" 

Dipper grinned. "Absolutely." 

Stan stood up. "I'll get Soos to carry you in, alright?" 

Dipper hesitated, then "If you could...y'know...just ask if _someone_ could carry me..." 

Stan blinked, then remembered who else was outside and chuckled. "Sure thing."   
Then he headed outside.

**Author's Note:**

> Bonus points if you can guess the BtVS episode this fic was inspired by.


End file.
